Crusader: Crossbreed
by Aqua Lion
Summary: Balto was a savage backwater of a world to begin with. It's a thousand times worse when you have no family, no people, and no purpose. Every once in awhile, someone escapes... but not even Pidge could escape alone.
1. Traktaia

**Crusader: Crossbreed**  
>Prologue: Traktaia<p>

_Sort of a prelude/prequel to my Arusian Crusade series. This is Pidge's backstory. Sadly, no ninja scientists are involved._

* * *

><p>It all started with defiance, as it so often did.<p>

The balance of power on Balto was always shifting. Never the overall balance; Tenra and Sryka had long ago concluded they could not afford to go to war. But the regional balance changed monthly, the local balance almost daily. When a gang of Tenra moved into a quiet Sryka neighborhood, it wasn't even unusual enough to merit a second glance from police. These things were always so simple. Pay the tribute, wait for the gang to get bored and move on.

But of all the neighborhood, one woman refused to pay the tribute. Not for any real reason. Only defiance—which, in fairness to her, was often reason enough.

The Tenra were reasonable. Generous, even. They chose not to punish the whole area for a single transgression, a single woman. They simply watched her, stalked her, punished her as they deemed fit. With their power thus fully asserted, they left. Such was the way of things.

She never reported the incident. It _was_ a crime, of course, right there on the books. But Balto was a rough, unsentimental world. Strength was law, survival was virtue, defiance was costly, and sex was cheap. Rape was just another crime, and a complicated one to look into at that. It would never be investigated. She let it be.

Sryka were biologically incapable of abortion. The symbiosis was too great; the mother would die as surely as the unborn child. There was no choice but to wait.

* * *

><p>He was born in the fall, as the wind rattled the windows of the small hospital and the chill was just beginning to seep through the walls. For a Sryka child he was quite large, but not dangerously so, and the doctors gave him a clean bill of health. His true nature was not apparent to them. Not yet. At birth Tenra and Sryka were startlingly similar, a relic of their shared ancestry, and the distinctive features of each race developed later. A crossbreed infant had no telltale signs, not when examined so quickly.<p>

No point in telling the doctors of her shame. She left.

It had seemed so simple when she was carrying the child. He would be birthed quietly and killed quietly, as quickly as possible. Neatly disposed of. It wasn't murder, it was a mercy.

Crossbreeds were forbidden. But there was more to their scarcity than that taboo. As they began to develop the stresses became too great, too quickly—their tiny bodies were torn between two divergent races. With exceptions so rare as to be hardly worth mentioning, they died within the first year. The 'lucky' few who survived the developmental period were reviled as abominations, scorned by society, leaving poverty and starvation their inevitable end.

Either way they died in agony.

Yet he stared at her with wide, curious emerald eyes, and she stared back at him with a creeping sense of dread. Abomination he might be, but it wasn't _his_ fault. He was so innocent, he was of her own blood... and he was doomed.

_Kill him. Give him a painless release from this world_.

There was no logical reason not to do it, but she found herself paralyzed. She couldn't just kill such a child. But she could hardly raise him, either. No. His time was short, too short, and she dared not grow attached.

She left him on the doorstep of an orphanage. Let the child's fate be someone else's burden to bear.

As she vanished into the night she whispered the traktaia, the ritual for the dying.


	2. Kavanyr

**Crusader: Crossbreed**  
>Chapter 1: Kavanyr<p>

* * *

><p>Sandren City was a Tenra stronghold, to the extent that any city could claim such a mantle for more than a few months at a time. And even this one had become that way recently, as the Tenra at the core of the city became more wealthy and fortified their neighborhoods around them. It was still not unheard of to see Sryka in this place, but much less common than ten years ago.<p>

Lurking among the darkened corners of this city was another. One who belonged to neither race, one who preyed upon the fledgeling aristocracy building at the town's center.

Conventional wisdom said that Tenra were impossible marks. That same conventional wisdom was what made them so _easy_. They were psychically powerful, yes... that power led to arrogance, and that arrogance led to complacency. None of them ever bothered to defend themselves.

They were his favorite targets.

The green-eyed boy slipped through the shadows, his gaze locked on the raven-haired woman who'd swept by him so calmly. She hadn't even spared a glance in his direction, which was actually quite unusual, and was one of the reasons he'd chosen this particular individual as today's victim. Most people did look at him... long enough to understand what he was.

Crossbreed. Halfblood. Freak. _Abomination_. In the dialect of the Tenra, the word for abomination was kavanyr—he got called kavanyr fairly often. If he tried hard enough, he could remember the days such epithets had bothered him, but no longer. He might be kavanyr, but he was alive and they were poorer for their contact with him.

Only poorer. Despite a couple dozen nasty street fights he'd never killed anyone; that would be inconvenient. Mugging drew a lot less heat than murder. He _had_ left quite a few marks out cold in the streets, careful to leave the bodies where they would be found quickly. Even that was unusual... the Tenra around here were soft. Typically by the time they realized the young crossbreed was a threat, it was over, and he was vanishing into the darkness.

Perhaps it wasn't admirable, but it was the only way to survive. The orphanage hadn't wanted him, not once they realized what he was. Society didn't want him, would never want him. He returned that contempt a hundredfold, refusing to just roll over and die. No one could tame him. No one could conquer him.

They hated him for that? Fine. Let them hate.

At least the black market loved him. Money talked there, no matter how ill-gotten it might be. And the Tenra who'd been flooding into this place recently weren't just soft, they were loaded.

It was so easy.

Almost insultingly easy, he mused now as today's target veered into an alley. Alone, save for the wind whistling through the streets and the shadow stalking behind her. The lack of Sryka in this part of town was the only _possible_ reason someone might be so foolish... her clothing indicated her to be on the higher fringes of society. In the more contested parts of Balto, someone would mug her just on principle.

These fools might call him inferior, but at least he wasn't just stealing out of spite.

Maybe his real problem was that he didn't see spite as a virtue... which was not to say he couldn't wield plenty of it when called upon. He focused it now on this stranger moving through the darkness, so arrogant in her assumption of safety, and he sprang.

She turned, her violet gaze piercing him, the instant he'd committed to the move. _Huh?_ A psychic wave ripped through his mind, stopping him cold, dropping him to the pavement with a gasp. _You can't be serious!_

The attack faded as swiftly as it had set in, and the woman looked down at him calmly. If he hadn't known better he'd have called her expression regret.

"I fear you may have become arrogant yourself."

_Of all the... _He scrambled more or less to his feet, taking on a crouch and tensing. Waiting. He'd taken psi attacks before... this was far from over. He'd get what he was after one way or another. Though she was right, he _had_ been arrogant. He would learn from this.

Perhaps he'd even thank her for the lesson, by not quite taking everything she had.

"That was the one shot you'll get," he hissed, averting his gaze just slightly. He had no psychic ability himself, but he knew enough—as a matter of survival he'd learned all he could of the Tenra, of their techniques. Telepathy was one thing. To _attack_ they required eye contact, and he wasn't going to give her that again. "Now how about you don't make me hurt you."

"Calm yourself, wind walker."

_Wind walker?_ He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, though he was pretty sure it was a better epithet than abomination. He still didn't want to hear it. "Stop _talking_. You gonna cooperate or am I gonna have to hit you?"

She considered this briefly, then tossed her satchel to the ground. "You'll find it is quite empty."

That was the moment he truly realized he'd been played, though to what end he couldn't quite imagine. If she'd meant to capture him, haul him off to the cops, she never would have released him from the psychic paralysis to begin with. Yet... she'd set a trap. A trap he'd fallen into so easily.

Why?

To give himself something to do he lifted the satchel, which was light and floppy and every bit as empty as she'd said it would be, and threw it back at her with a scowl. What was she playing at? He wanted to know, desperately _needed_ to know, but he was not about to ask for answers. "You may as well leave, then." He was coiled deadly tight now, ready to spring in an instant. It would be her own fault if he hurt her. "These back ways aren't _safe_."

The woman merely bowed her head in acknowledgment. "Forgive me, but I will not leave."

_Enough talk, then_. He lunged.

The easiest way to take down a Tenra was to feint. They might sense the first strike coming, neatly avoid it, but by the time they read the second it was far too late to react. They were known for their intelligence and psychic skill, not their reflexes. He was already preparing for the second strike when he moved, and was startled when she didn't avoid the first one.

_Now this is getting ridiculous._ He rolled back off the crumpled heap of Tenra he'd just knocked over and crouched again, eyes narrowed, waiting for the counterattack.

None came. "I don't think you enjoyed that any more than I did," she observed calmly, standing and brushing herself off.

He bit back a snarled response. It was her own fault, but... it had become painfully apparent in that moment that she wasn't blocking him. Why hadn't he run yet? Never mind why _she_ wasn't running, he'd long ago stopped expecting anything resembling rational behavior from his marks. But he'd had plenty of attempted thefts go badly before, and he certainly didn't hang around to talk to the intended victim afterward.

Why now?

Because she didn't make any damned sense, that was why. He _hated_ things that didn't make sense; he couldn't help himself from stopping to puzzle them out.

She didn't make sense, and if he couldn't beat the answers out of her...

"What do you want?" he growled, resignation bleeding through into his voice.

"To talk."

That was possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever heard in his young life. "We've _been_ talking." Entirely too much for his own tastes. "We've been talking, and you've been yanking my thoughts out of my brain, and if you would just get whatever game you're playing over with that would be _great_."

The strange woman bowed her head. "I understand your hostility. Perhaps we should start with introductions."

"Whatever."

"Then we'll do that. Do you have a name?" she asked gently, and he hesitated. No. He didn't have a name. The orphanage had given him a number, of course, but names were something special. A privilege which parentless freaks were not given. But he wouldn't admit such a thing...

He gazed up at her with defiance burning in his eyes. "They call me Kavanyr."

For some reason this response seemed to upset her. "Do they?" She knelt in front of him and met his gaze, her own eyes glowing softly. He didn't look away. If this was another trap and she attacked him now, at least it would end this discussion, but she didn't attack. She spoke. "Kavanyr is a terrible name, little one. Not a name to be proud of."

Probably correct, but who did she think she was? Bad enough that she'd caught him, bad enough she had him reeling in confusion—he would _not_ tolerate her passing judgment on him like this. "It's the only name I've got!"

She still didn't look angry, despite his continued hostility. She just looked... sad.

In all honesty, he didn't like making people sad. Usually he made people angry. He could respond to that, become angry right back, fight and conquer whatever they threw at him. Sadness was something else, something uncomfortable. He took a step backward.

The woman closed her eyes. "It is a sad state of this world... when such a wondrous creature is so reviled." Opening her eyes she reached out a hand, slowly, as if she were courting a wild animal. Which he admitted, grudgingly, she probably was. "My name is Jyari. Will you allow me to give you a name?"

He drew further back in shock. Names... names were important things, not to be bestowed on strangers who tried to rob you. "Why would you do that?" His best scowl accompanied the words. Best not to display the pang that shot through him, a gaping wound that was half aversion to pity, and half... something far deeper.

She laid her hand on his shoulder. "Because no one should be without a name. And because you are a miracle, not an abomination."

What, exactly, was he supposed to say to that? He wished she'd just go away. Take him to the police, even. Anything but sitting here, holding his arm, offering him a name. Calling him a miracle? What a delusion. But...

It sounded so nice...

In the end he didn't need to answer. She was a Tenra, after all. Placing her other hand on his other shoulder, she stared into his eyes, amethyst against emerald, certainty against conflict. "Your name is Pidge," she declared.

"Pidge," he repeated in a whisper, testing the word, tasting it, listening to the sound until it was lost on the summer breeze. It felt good—it felt _right_. "Pidge," he repeated more strongly. He knew what it meant.

_Survivor_.

It was a good name... and he didn't understand why she would give it to him. She had to be after something. All things had a price.

"What do you want?" he asked again, far less aggressively this time. All he could really think of was that he was a very good thief, and both races of Balto _did_ have a solid tradition of employing mercenaries. Usually of their own kind, of course. But hiring a crossbreed for something like that would show appropriate contempt for the target.

He'd had such offers before, and generally responded to them by leaving the potential employer out cold in the shadows. No. Such petty things were beneath him; the offers were insulting. But in this case he might be able to make an exception. This price... this name... no other payment could ever tug at his soul the way this had.

Of course, if someone had offered him a job and suggested granting him a name in return, he probably would have done much worse than just knock them out. Jyari had planned this well. She knew what she was doing, exactly what buttons to press and how to press them. And that still made him uneasy.

He was missing something yet.

She was quiet, waiting him out. Then, "I _was_ looking for you. But not for the reasons you imagine."

Pidge drew back, off balance again. "Then why... how?"

Jyari leaned back against the alley wall and studied him. "Forgive me, I don't mean to patronize, but I must assume you've had little enough opportunity for research. How much do you know of your kind?"

"I don't have a _kind_," he snapped before he could reign in his temper; he didn't care what she thought about his education, but suggesting he belonged to any identifiable race was outright ridiculous. He clamped down on it quickly. _Calm down. Hear her out if you want your answers_. Much more quietly, he offered the true answer. "...Because we're abominations. And nearly all of us die."

Her voice was so gentle. "Is that all?"

"There's nothing else that matters."

"But there is." She shook her head. "So little is known about halfbloods, but there are those who have theorized. It is thought that the few who survive their infant stage must have exceptional qualities. That if it weren't for the biological stresses—the source of the taboo—there would be no reason for Tenra and Sryka to be separate, because the mixed blood is so much stronger."

Pidge frowned. In some ways that was gratifying; in other ways it really made him want to hurt someone. There was only one person handy, though, and he still needed her conscious to answer his questions. "I'm sure that's a fascinating academic subject for people who don't know a damned thing about what crossbreeds are really like."

"Indeed." She just nodded in the face of his fury. "I heard these things in passing, and thought little of them. But then I heard the rumors, your reputation. A young crossbreed thief, swift as the wind, preying upon the supposedly all-seeing Tenra... living proof that such theories were correct. And yet on this cruel planet, there are so few doors open to those such as you. I hoped perhaps I could help with that."

Oh. Now it all made so much more sense, except for the part where it didn't at all. Who would ever run about hoping to help a crossbreed, no matter what theories were involved? "Why?"

She considered this. "I do not think my reasons will be enough for you," she said finally.

_What's that supposed to mean?_ "Try me."

For a moment—just a moment—she actually averted her gaze. "I wish to do some good in this world," she explained softly. "That is all."

_Oh... but then... _

She was right. It wasn't enough. Not in a life where survival was everything... where society balanced on a razor's edge of hostility and cold cooperation, where ruthless logic ruled over emotion at all times. Yet even as the thoughts went through his mind, they felt hollow. Empty.

Survival... but to what end? There had to be something more, something greater. Was it as simple as that? To do some good in the world?

"I think I understand."

Violet eyes widened. She hadn't expected that. "You do?"

She was as lost as he was. It struck him with sudden, savage certainty. Where he had no people, she had no purpose, and for an instant his world turned upside down. She pitied him. But he pitied _her_. She had come to help him, and he...

He...

"I _think_ I understand," he repeated, a little more emphatically.

A faint smile. He didn't know if it was because she was a Tenra, or because his thoughts were written on his face for anyone to see. Maybe a bit of both. But Jyari held out her hand. "Come with me, Pidge. We will see if you understand." She gazed into the darkening sky. "Perhaps... we can learn from each other."


	3. Traksos

**Crusader: Crossbreed**  
>Chapter 2: Traksos<p>

* * *

><p>As summer dawned over Balto's northern hemisphere, the winds became warmer, the storms more severe but the sunlight more pleasant when it appeared. It was a time of celebration, but also remembrance—as they moved into the season of living, all were expected to pay their respects to the dead. So as she did every year on the first day of the season, a dark-haired woman knelt over a pair of grave markers in silence.<p>

Jyari was one of the New Wave, the Tenra who'd moved to Sandren City when it became a stronghold for their race. The Sryka had screamed aggression, to the extent that anyone cared; of course, if the Sryka hadn't been flooding into nearby Celverton, the Tenra leaving that city wouldn't have had to find a new place to settle down.

Politics. Rough and crude perhaps, but still politics. It left her cold.

Kneeling before where her parents were buried, she contemplated her path again. She had no doubt they would disapprove. But they'd given up their right to judge, hadn't they? They'd died. They'd left her so young, and left her nothing but possessions. Fine, expensive possessions, no doubt. But empty things with no happy memories. She didn't even own a single picture of their small family... she'd thrown them all out when she realized not one of the images held a smile.

Coming to their graves was more an obligation than an honor.

Ever since their deaths she'd struggled to find a place for herself. By rights and resources she could have simply floated through life, existing in leisure and luxury, but that was terribly unfulfilling. An attempt to work as a commoner hadn't been much better—all the lack of purpose associated with menial labor on Balto, plus the guilt of taking a job someone else might actually need.

And so she'd sought out a cause, which wasn't so easy. Charity for its own sake wasn't much of a virtue; it was just a sign that you were soft. The unrelenting hostility that cloaked this world... it was enough to drive anyone mad.

Perhaps it had driven them all mad.

Perhaps the young hellion she'd taken in, who disdained each race equally, was the most sane person on the planet.

Jyari sighed, reciting the traktaia as custom required, then stood and looked apologetically at the graves. "If you're still looking after me, I'm sure you'd tell me I've debased myself," she murmured, "but at least you should be happy I've found my place."

She didn't really believe they were watching, and that was just as well.

* * *

><p>So today was Traksos, the day of the dead. Jyari had left him a note; she was out paying her respects. Pidge didn't get it... he didn't get a lot of things.<p>

For example, he didn't get what was so great about sleeping in a bed. Waking beneath the sheets had sent him into a panic the first morning—he'd quite literally vaulted out the window and darted through the streets until the pounding of his pulse became exertion rather than fear. Why in the world would anyone want to feel so tied down at their most vulnerable? He slept on top of the covers now.

The roof would've been better, but he was at least _trying_ to act marginally civilized. If only because crossbreeds weren't supposed to be. Or maybe because his Tenra patron worried when he vanished to lay beneath the stars. _Worried_.

Jyari was probably beyond his comprehension. Then again, he knew that feeling was mutual.

She was fronting him, and that was simple enough. They'd discovered his mechanical aptitude quite by accident, when he'd dismantled and reassembled the alarm clock in his room just to reassure himself the ridiculous beeping thing was no threat. Clocks he understood. It was just that alarms were usually a danger when you made your living off theft.

The discovery solved a problem. It wasn't that she _demanded_ he make himself useful, earn his keep... far from it. But if this arrangement came down to simple charity he would disappear. They both knew it. Much better to return to the streets than depend so thoroughly on another.

No crossbreed could just walk out and get a job as a mechanic, of course. Skill was irrelevant when stigma was involved. But over the last two months Jyari had developed a local reputation as someone who could get the thorniest technical problems fixed in short order. Nobody had to know the truth.

For his part, Pidge was happy not to have to deal with the social aspects of any occupation—after all, his social skills still largely amounted to knocking inconvenient people out to shut them up. And he enjoyed the work itself. There was something so very gratifying about fixing things, making what was broken whole again...

There was probably a metaphor there.

Today's project was a motorcycle that couldn't seem to run for more than five minutes at a time, and he had the engine pretty well ripped apart when Jyari entered the garage. For a moment she was silent, studying the components strewn all over the floor, then shook her head in a mix of admiration and bemusement. "You never fail to amaze me."

"Cut that out." Accepting that she saw him as something special still didn't come easily. "How're you doing?" Whenever he was uncomfortable he deflected, changing the subject from himself to her. And after all, it _was_ the day of the dead. He had to assume she'd been out thinking of dead people.

That seemed like it ought to be depressing.

She just shrugged. "Well enough. Traksos is always about the same."

"I don't get this holiday at all."

A faint smile. "That may be for the best."

"Really? I was hoping you could explain it to me."

Over the last month she'd explained so many things to him—though no amount of attempting to explain beds had been quite successful—and she didn't look the least bit surprised at the question. "I wish I could, Pidge. For me it's something of an irritating duty."

She was open with him. Trust could lead to trust; he was open with her also, though in his case there wasn't really all that much to tell. A crossbreed was a crossbreed. In some respects their stories were probably all the same. Now he looked at her and realized he didn't even know which dead people she'd been out paying her dutiful respects to. Let alone why she might find it irritating. "I understand that even less, honestly."

"I think it's best not to speak ill of the dead today. Remind me tomorrow and I'll tell you about my parents."

Oh. Her parents... were dead? Pidge hesitated. It had never even occurred to him to ask Jyari about parents. Such things were sort of irrelevant to his worldview. "Sorry," he said quietly, looking back at the engine.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. "You've nothing to apologize for."

Whenever she touched him he still had to fight his reflexes; he'd actually decked her once, though she was still insistent that had been her own fault. Probably had been. She'd learned to speak up and make sure he knew she was there before even getting close to him since then. He didn't understand how she could be so damned patient...

"Are you alright, Pidge?"

She didn't read his mind anymore. Rarely, anyway. Tenra found telepathy quite natural, but she knew how much it unnerved him. Just another sign.

"Not really," he admitted. "The usual."

They'd had this discussion so many times before. Him questioning the idea that she was doing all this just for some ephemeral sense of doing something good. He could understand that in the abstract, but the way it manifested... she worried about him, she explained things so patiently, she put up with him when he freaked out over little things like alarm clocks that wouldn't bother any normal Baltan. Never mind the definite net loss his presence was running her, mechanics aside.

It kept coming up because he couldn't understand. And he couldn't accept that he couldn't understand. He'd never been good at accepting that about _anything_.

She contemplated him for a few moments, violet eyes glowing. When a Tenra's eyes started glowing it meant one of two things: either they were using their psychic abilities, or simply deep in thought. By now Pidge had stopped assuming telepathy every time he saw the glow, so he waited her out rather than jumping on her as he had many times before—occasionally literally.

"You still think yourself such a burden?"

He arched an eyebrow. "You're still having to watch your step so I don't punch you out in your own house."

At that she actually laughed. "True enough, though you've been greatly improving on that count. And I find that fact quite gratifying considering the terms we met under." Sigh. "I did not seek you out and take you in because I expected this process to be easy for either of us."

"Yeah. I know. That's the part I'm not understanding."

"Then perhaps it's time I admitted the full truth," she said quietly. "You are special, Pidge, and you deserve far better than the darkness this world would condemn you to. That _would_ have been enough for me. But you must also realize... I was lonely."

_...Lonely?_

The word hit him like a brick to the chest—something he'd felt more than once, from a literal standpoint. She'd been _lonely_. That was a little different than just wanting to do some good in the world. And it made so much more sense...

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"I ought to have, but it wasn't so easy to speak of it." She smiled faintly. "Today is Traksos. Perhaps remembering what little I've lost reminded me how much I've gained."

Pidge reached up and touched her arm. He'd come to tolerate contact, as long as it didn't come as a surprise, but wasn't sure he'd ever initiated it before. No words were coming to mind, but from the startled expression that washed over her, he didn't really think he needed any.

"I think we're both learning," she said quietly.

"I think you're right."

* * *

><p>Half an hour from Sandren City, the holiday proved quite eventful indeed.<p>

The day of the dead was a rather large deal in Meletra; the city had been the site of an ancient battle between Tenra and Sryka, a battle that had been renounced by all as a threat to the stability of Balto... yet a battle in which the heroics of both sides were revered by their descendents.

There were more than a few on this planet who _wished_ war was a practical option.

Causing trouble in Meletra on Traksos was a terrible idea, in any case. The dark-haired boy who lurked along the back roads of the city had planned accordingly, fully prepared to spend the whole day holed up in the little underground lair he called his home, a relic of an abandoned construction site. Best to lie low, avoiding the streets.

The city would be packed, of course. Tenra on one side, Sryka on the other, glaring silently across the unspoken lines and contemplating kicking the battle right off again. For his part, the boy didn't care about the battle or the remembrance. Neither side had won, and to a crossbreed that was really just fine. Let them all kill each other.

It just made him twitch for the streets to be so full of people, and he dared not jump _any_ of them. So he stayed home.

Of course, many would remain in the city tomorrow, and he'd make a fine killing then. Entirely metaphorically. He didn't kill people. So long as they didn't catch the crime in progress, the police figured if you got mugged by a halfblood it was your own fault for not being careful. Murder would tend to draw a little more attention. Just as well; it removed the temptation.

Something about being constantly treated as vermin didn't give him much innate respect for life.

_Go figure._

He sprawled on his sleeping bag, looked up at the earthen ceiling, and sighed. There was nothing to _do_ on Traksos. All the money he gained from his thefts went to very practical things. Things like food and water and dark clothing... and the occasional minor indulgence, like the sleeping bag. He'd built his little den into a reasonably comfortable place to hide at night.

Leisure time was out of the question. Usually if he found himself bored he went out and found a new target, to build up a stash for when times were harder.

Oh, he supposed he could spend the day honoring the dead like a normal person. But what dead were there to honor? His parents? Were they dead? Dead to him, anyway. Sure. Honor them for the hell they'd condemned him to. He wondered, not for the first time, why anyone had ever thought bringing a crossbreed into the world was such a great idea.

A lie. He knew nobody had. Knew crossbreeds were born from violence and dominance, never because anyone thought it was intelligent. Even in the unlikely event that a Tenra and Sryka truly loved each other, they wouldn't try to breed. Birthing a doomed crossbreed was cruel; adoption was a much better choice.

Yes, he knew exactly where he came from... it was just easier not to have to admit it.

Something outside attracted his attention. Noise. Voices. Immediately his dark eyes narrowed. Nobody should be so close... if anyone actually entered this place, he would have to abandon it. Knocking out an intruder and removing them would just spark their curiosity when they woke, and killing them remained out of the question.

_Okay, let's go have a look._

They were standing in the half-finished corridor which led to his lair. Sryka, four of them, clad in what looked like riot gear. "That's unfortunate," one muttered as the young crossbreed appeared before them. "We didn't even have to hunt the rat down."

"Better luck next time." A woman who seemed to be the leader of the band stepped forward, the pistol in her hand glinting in the dimness. "Don't try to make a move, chipral. Your head's worth a lot more if it's still attached to your shoulders."

_Bounty hunters._ The boy's eyes narrowed. _On Traksos, really? The nerve._

"Oh, please." Simple enough. If he could just get to the streets above he could lose them; the Tenra would rip them limb from limb for acting up on this day, of all days. He pulled a small capsule from his pocket. One of those very pragmatic things he spent his loot on. "Don't ask _me_ to respect your profit margin."

Smoke engulfed them as he threw the capsule to the ground, and he ran. But he didn't get far. As he raced down the clouded corridor a silhouette appeared in front of him, the short, wiry form framed in the light at the end of the tunnel. Another Sryka. Expecting something just like this, no doubt.

He saw the flash of a stun pistol, then darkness.


	4. Syrankar

**Crusader: Crossbreed**  
>Chapter 3: Syrankar<p>

* * *

><p>It was shaping up to be a quiet day. The weather was unusually mild, for summer, and he'd finished the stubborn motorcycle with no further projects on deck. Often on such days he and Jyari just sat in the backyard and talked. She was fascinated by him, though he couldn't figure out why, how many heists could he really speak of before they all started to blend together? It seemed like the tales of his adventures ought to get old.<p>

Since Traksos he'd attempted to make her tell him stories, as well. But he didn't even know what to ask. What was it like to be a fullblood, to live normally? That question seemed awfully broad, yet he lacked the context to really break it down.

She'd told him of her parents. Strict people who'd demanded only that she behave herself, and in return given her anything money could buy. Starving her of all those crucial things money could not buy. Pidge understood her now, because he'd been there himself. You could find anything on the black market, after all—anything but a way to fill the aching void that had been his only companion on the streets...

Perhaps crossbreeds and fullbloods weren't always so different.

As they finished breakfast she seemed troubled, and spoke just before he could ask what was up. "Have you heard of Meletra?"

Pidge considered the question for a few moments. The word sounded familiar, but he couldn't seem to place it... "Heard of it, but I don't know what it means." Not unusual. His education from the orphanage mostly amounted to reading and basic arithmetic, and what he'd picked up on the streets tended to have... gaps.

"It's a city not too far from here." She was giving him a slightly peculiar look. "I heard some interesting news from there recently, I've followed up on it, and it seems to be accurate. Last week a notorious thief was taken into Sryka custody." Frown. "A crossbreed thief."

The word tore through him like a shock wave. "Y... you... you're _kidding_," he managed to choke out after listening to the words over and over in his mind a dozen times, ripping the sentence apart and putting it back together, making sure he grasped it and it meant what he thought it ought to mean.

Another crossbreed. He'd never even heard of another—not so specifically, anyway. Talk of crossbreeds, plural, was abstract and irrelevant. There _were_ no other crossbreeds. Crossbreeds died.

Jyari waited patiently for his composure to return. "The reports are quite credible, though you understand getting information out of Sryka is rather difficult for me."

"Yeah." Pidge knew perfectly well how these things worked; it didn't matter much. She could only be mentioning this for one reason, and he didn't want to waste time talking about the _how_. "So we're gonna go after them, right?"

She looked startled. "I, er... that was my intention, if it does not bother you, yes."

Pidge searched in his mind for some reason that seeking out another crossbreed might possibly bother him, and couldn't seem to find anything. "Why would it bother me?"

A hesitation. Then Jyari smiled, eyes glowing briefly. "Forgive me. I want to be quite certain not to make you feel as if your importance has been lessened... I am not just playing a _collector_." There was a very harsh note to her voice on that last word, and he decided he would definitely have to ask about that later.

Right now, though...

"Don't be ridiculous. When do we leave?"

* * *

><p>Meletra was not much different than Sandren City, really. Pidge took careful note of the architecture though there wasn't much point; there were many differences between Tenra and Sryka culture, but building styles did not tend to be one of them. Mostly because they kept commandeering each others' territory, and tearing down what was already built after moving in just wasn't very practical. To the extent there were any differences, half the Tenra on Balto probably lived in buildings of Sryka design, and vice versa. Pidge had no idea which was which.<p>

The prison was quite imposing, built of the blue-gray granite most Baltan civil structures favored. He tried not to stare at the guards, who watching them with scowls that ranged from mildly suspicious to downright hostile. All Sryka, of course. The small, wiry forms startled him; spending so much time in a Tenra stronghold, he wasn't really used to being taller than anyone he came across. Young as he was, he still had a few inches on most of the guards, and he found it disconcerting.

Only the faces changed when they entered. The hostility did not; the warden glowered at them as she looked up. She was curious at their presence, no doubt, but Sryka prized curiosity above all intellectual traits. She would not deign to show it to a Tenra, and certainly not to a _halfblood_. "Jyari and Pidge, is it? Everything is in order. You have gone to much trouble for little benefit." Her voice was cold. "Come."

Ice crept down Pidge's spine. Nervousness. The building was... well... it was a building, and he still didn't care so much for buildings in general, but this one was especially cold and soulless. Nobody should be confined to a place like this.

Even if crossbreeds really _were_ animals, animals shouldn't be caged...

"You may enter the cell if you wish," the warden announced as they walked down the hall. "The subject is not violent. The risk is your own, of course."

"Of course." There was a degree of strain in Jyari's voice. Whatever her appreciation for crossbreeds, she didn't seem to be overly enamored of full-blooded Sryka. Not that Pidge either blamed or particularly disagreed with her. "We will enter."

The warden shrugged, led them to a side corridor, and stopped before one of the cells, flipping a switch to disable the crackling force field.

Inside, a lithe, shadowed figure looked up, eyes glinting with barely concealed hostility as his gaze locked on Jyari. "Who're you supposed t..." He froze, voice giving out, suspicious scowl disappearing in an instant, when his gaze shifted and fell on Pidge. "Wh... wha...?"

There were no words, and words were the last thing on his mind as Pidge stared at the other boy in amazement.

His age was impossible to guess; he was taller than Pidge, but from his softer features and more graceful build, it might just be a matter of his Tenra side being more dominant. His hair and eyes were dark brown, and as wild as any street-dwelling halfblood's might be expected to be. And he was...

_Another one. _It was the only way he could make sense of what he was feeling. For the first time in his life he was staring at one of his own kind.

"Minekta essaigora sa kye," the other crossbreed whispered. Pidge echoed the sentiment, though that wasn't the particular vulgarity he'd have chosen if he could speak. Mostly because it was Sryka'te, and he preferred Tenra'ke for his cursing. "Who... who are you?"

Well, that was a good start. If only he could make his voice cooperate. "My name's Pidge," he managed, finally. "What's yours?"

"I, uh... most people call me Chipral." That was also a Sryka word. Scourge. Not exactly complimentary, but a thief could do worse, as titles went. "But I just call myself Chip."

_Huh_. Pidge had never thought of turning the epithets thrown at _him_ into nicknames, but Chip looked fairly satisfied with the name he'd given. And if it pleased him, he was ahead of the game, really. "Then we'll call you Chip too. If you don't mind, I mean."

"I don't mind..." Chip looked at Jyari again. "Who's the Tenra supposed to be?"

Up until that moment, it hadn't occurred to Pidge that he would be doing the talking. Jyari had tracked him down, spoken to him, offered a better path and won his trust, despite the significant roadblock of her being a Tenra. And surely she could do the same for Chip. Yet it was so much easier for him... yes. They were bound by blood most of their world would call tainted, and so they knew each other immediately, perfect strangers though they were.

"This is Jyari." His eyes hardened for a moment as he added, "The only decent fullblood on this planet." He'd stated that opinion before, but was still vaguely aware that the Tenra off to the side had blushed.

"High praise," Chip said in a tone that made it clear he wasn't remotely convinced.

Pidge gave Jyari a quick nod, an invitation to read his thoughts. Just for the moment. Life would be so much more convenient if he could form telepathic messages himself, but there wasn't really any point dwelling on that... he wanted to talk to Chip alone. Without Jyari, to ease the other crossbreed's mind. And most certainly without the warden, to ease his own.

She took the thoughts and acted on them swiftly, turning to the warden. "Can we speak elsewhere? I think these two are best left to themselves."

The Sryka glared at her. "Regulations would forbid that." A brief hesitation as she glanced at the two crossbreeds, took in what was happening. "...But I think you're correct," she added, sounding almost sympathetic. Just for a moment. It vanished when she looked to Pidge. "I must close the cell again."

He shrugged an acceptance, and the force field sprang back into place with a hiss.

Chip studied him with quiet curiosity. Something _he_ was willing to show, if the Sryka who held him captive were not. It was a suspicious sort of curiosity. Skeptical. "So why are you here? You must want something."

Not the most auspicious start to a conversation, but it rang all too familiar. "We want to get you out of here, for starters."

"Sure, that's simple enough. I'm in _jail_," the boy pointed out, arching one slim eyebrow.

True enough, that was a minor inconvenience. Pidge shrugged, gestured to the hallway where Jyari and the warden had vanished. They'd discussed the plan long before reaching the prison. "Funny thing about Sryka, they apparently don't take much to bribe."

Frown. "Don't see why you'd do that."

"To help you."

"Great, charity," Chip muttered derisively, though without much confidence.

"It's not so bad as that," Pidge countered. Bristling, just a little, at the idea he might have accepted charity so easily.

The other crossbreed considered this and put it aside for the moment. "So this Tenra," he said frostily. "Is she your mother?"

Well. He had not expected _that_. "Um." Of course she wasn't. It was more just that the question startled him. And made him realize, perhaps for the first time, that he couldn't say no and be positive it was the truth. But he was as certain as it was possible to be, in any case. "No, not that at all. Honestly I just met her not too long ago myself."

That seemed to make Chip feel better, somehow. A reassurance, maybe... that all crossbreeds really did start at the same place. But then he frowned. "So why come here?"

Pidge took a few moments to look for words. To look around the cell, a sparse and miserable little room with nothing but a cot and a barred window. No time to dance around things. He didn't know how long Jyari could keep the warden occupied, though he had no doubt she would be able to arrange for Chip's freedom. The question was where the other crossbreed would go afterward.

"Someone's got to," he said finally. _Spit it all out, see what he does. Trust leads to trust_. "I was on your side of this conversation a couple months ago, Chip. I know what you're thinking, but... you can't just stay here, can you? Come with us."

He could see the other crossbreed's armored shell cracking, just slightly. It was the truth, a simple truth that transcended any city, any street. Nothing good could come of this prison. And if he was anything like Pidge—as he surely had to be—he would be feeling that ache inside himself, even if he'd never noticed it before. The loneliness that could be distracted from, but never truly denied.

Chip wasn't convinced, of course. "So if you've had this discussion... she convinced you?"

"Yeah. With difficulty."

"What did you do before?"

"Probably about what you've been doing. Wandered around on the streets. Slept on rooftops. Stole from a lot of Tenra."

Dark eyes widened and the cool demeanor completely vanished for a moment. "Tenra? You can't be serious."

Pidge couldn't help a grin. "I'm serious. They never actually pay attention. Not in Sandren City anyway, they think they're safe there, maybe the Tenra around here are different..."

"Whoa." Chip shook his head, his barriers visibly fracturing further. "I was doing a pretty good job on the Sryka here. Apparently too good. Know how I ended up in jail? It wasn't the cops, it was bounty hunters."

_Bounty hunters?_ Pidge was startled and did a poor job of hiding it; such a possibility had never even occurred to him when he'd prowled his own streets. But maybe that was because he _had_ been preying on Tenra, who couldn't even bring themselves to admit their impenetrable psychic barriers were being breached. He'd been a whispered legend, not a threat that required hunting. Sryka were different.

And yet these two thieves had reached this same point—kavanyr and chipral, abomination and scourge. And they could walk the same path, if only Chip could be convinced. "This is no way to live, you know."

Chip took a long, deep breath, looked at where Jyari had been, then met Pidge's eyes. He looked haunted. "Maybe you're right."

"Maybe," Pidge agreed. "So come with us."

They stared at each other. _You've got to come. You've got to. _The thought of leaving him here was unbearable. Intolerable. _Please_... He couldn't have finally met another crossbreed, only to leave him in this place of relentless hunters and cold, soulless walls.

The other boy nodded.

"I don't know about _her_... but..." Chip reached out and took his hands, and a jolt shot through him. It wasn't physical—it was psychic, almost spiritual. Unprovoked, uncontrolled... and somehow beautiful. It looked like Chip had startled himself too, but he didn't relinquish his hold on Pidge's hands. If anything the moment had strengthened his resolve. "I'll go with you, syrankar."

Syrankar... another Sryka word.

_Brother_.

* * *

><p>As a general rule, Tenra were flighty and idealistic, while Sryka were surly and practical. Chip hadn't realized how much that bled over to even their resident crossbreed street thieves until he started talking to Pidge.<p>

The other crossbreed hadn't lived _anywhere_. He'd just moved beneath the stars, letting the winds guide him, never spending two nights in the same place. Chip couldn't imagine it. The first thing he'd done when the orphanage decided he no longer belonged there was scour Meletra for a place he could put down roots and use as a home base.

Actually he felt a small twinge of regret that he hadn't been able to go back there, to see it one last time, but no doubt the bounty hunters would have cleaned the place out anyway. Returning would serve no purpose. Just a momentary sentimental lapse.

Or was sentiment really such a bad thing? Gods knew he'd felt plenty of sentiment in the moment when he agreed to come to this place... this place where light could shine even indoors during the night, and he was no longer alone.

"I'll never get used to sleeping in here. It's too bright."

"I thought the same thing at first... about getting used to it, I mean. I was just confused when I woke up and it was so dark."

And that just about summed it all up, didn't it?

Chip was sitting on his bed now, still trying to wrap his head around the concept. _His_ bed. He hadn't had a bed since the orphanage, and calling that flimsy thing a 'bed' might have been overly generous. Pidge was sprawled on the bed across from him. Jyari had offered him his own room but for reasons he couldn't have ever put into words, he didn't want that. Didn't want to be alone after a whole life of depending on no other.

What had happened? In that moment where he and Pidge had touched, everything had changed.

Chip wasn't a psychic. Maybe that was exclusive to full-blooded Tenra, maybe he just hadn't won out on those specific genes. But he was certain, instinctively, that what had passed between himself and Pidge was some form of psionics. If only he knew what form. And why.

And _how_.

Maybe Jyari could tell him about it; she was a Tenra after all. Later. Another day, another week. He wasn't sure, yet, how he felt about her. For now she'd let them be, given them space, and it seemed to him that she couldn't possibly have done anything better. It was a point in her favor. But it meant he didn't know her at all.

She didn't matter, not really. What mattered was the one he'd called brother, and meant it.

"What's on your mind?" Pidge asked softly.

"Just... thinking." Chip frowned. That hadn't come out as terribly helpful at all, but he wasn't used to trying to detail his thoughts out loud. "About whatever it was that happened back there."

A nod. "I was wondering about that too." Frown. Pidge's eyes were so vivid; sometimes they almost seemed to glow, though he was certain that was only a trick of the light. It was still unnerving. Chip had met so very few Tenra, but he knew when their eyes glowed it usually meant it was time to flee. "I don't think it was all bad though, do you?"

_Was it all bad? Or was it bad at all?_ It was hard to say for certain; the psionic pulse and its aftermath made him feel so vulnerable. Anyone else on this miserable planet, and he might have broken his rule about not killing. After all, he'd already _been_ in jail. But Pidge was not anyone else. He was another crossbreed, one of the damned race Chip had never believed he would see.

Perhaps the spark between them had been a sign of that perfect understanding. Even if they didn't really understand each other at all... the untamed wind and the cold, calculating stone. The one who'd slept without care beneath the sky, and the one who'd taken shelter underground in the darkness.

"No," he agreed at length. "I don't think so."

Pidge smiled, and Chip was startled to find himself smiling as well. Such a fleeting thing, but he'd never made anyone happy before. After all, he was an abomination, a freak of nature, the scourge of Meletra. What possible happiness could he bring anyone?

_I could get to like this, if I can keep it up. Even if it means walking in the light._

"Syrankar." His voice was soft. "Let's go outside. Show me the stars."


	5. Bazjeran

**Crusader: Crossbreed**  
>Chapter 4: Bazjeran<p>

_Fair warning, Chip is an angry angry crossbreed...  
><em>_On a more meta note, if you're not reading Icewyche's Crusader: Fireborn yet, you should really go do that too. Because it's pretty much awesome.  
><em>_Enjoy!_

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><p>This was not where she had expected things to go at all, Jyari mused, sitting on the windowsill and watching the two crossbreeds darting all over her backyard. There was something surreal about the scene, though she ought to be used to it by now—surreal, but more than that. It was beautiful, in its own mad way.<p>

Not for what they were actually doing, but what it represented.

Chip was about two years older than his newfound brother, and more than twice as cynical. Pidge believed everyone was a potential threat; Chip believed everyone was actively out to get him. Not that he could really be blamed for this outlook. Everyone in Meletra probably _had_ been. Sryka were not known for their tolerance of disorder, after all, and thieves who jumped people in back alleys were awfully disorderly.

She'd expected he might feel some kinship with Pidge, but even she had been startled at how quickly and powerfully it had taken hold...

They were sparring now, if 'sparring' was the correct word for such chaos. Both had learned to fight on the streets, to do whatever it took to survive and fight another day, and there was no method in their madness. The only rule seemed to be that mortal wounds were off-limits. Which, to hear Pidge tell it, was a rule on the street as well. That was for the best. Murder was one of the few crimes taken seriously on Balto... indeed, perhaps the only crime.

Jyari watched them fight and shook her head, trying to make sense of it. She knew they were still feeling each other out, testing their limits. _Were_ there limits? If they were pulling their punches she couldn't tell, though certainly hand to hand combat wasn't her area of expertise. With some effort she avoided the reflex to touch their minds and seek some insight—Chip, unlike Pidge, could detect such attempts, which made it that much more important to fight her instincts.

That did leave her mostly without answers, of course. _I do not understand... and I don't think I'm going to._

She could _see_ it, part of it, when she concentrated. The ghostly tendrils of uncontrolled psi energy which hovered around Chip at all times—but when he was near Pidge the fog gathered around them both. It had been the first thing he'd really discussed with her, soon after recovering him from Meletra, when he'd barely even been comfortable enough with the Tenra to look her in the eye.

In fairness, looking a Tenra in the eye _could_ be a risky proposition.

What he'd told her still didn't make a lot of sense. Though Jyari had never formed a psychic bond herself, she knew their mechanics, because her kind were educated thoroughly on such matters. They were subtle things, which took a long time to nurture and develop. Not the shocking, sudden jolt that Chip had described passing between him and Pidge.

So strange...

They _were_ bound, that much was easy enough, and perhaps theirs was a bond not even a Tenra could fathom. A secret which crossbreeds kept from a world that didn't care to understand. But no matter what, such bonds were spiritual. Whispers of destiny that didn't always speak of friendship.

The psychic link didn't explain how much they genuinely _liked_ each other, when they seemed to share so little but blood. Maybe that was beyond her grasp too.

As for her? She wasn't certain. When she'd started this project, sought out the wind walker who haunted the shadows of Sandren City, she'd assumed she was looking for a companion. Someone to help, someone to save... but also someone she could befriend, and share with. There had been no plural involved in the plan, but when the word had come in of the second crossbreed, how could she simply sit back and ignore it?

Perhaps fate had intervened, because it was so much better this way. Pidge and Chip had _both_ needed someone. And perhaps she'd facilitated things, but in the end what they had needed was each other.

If she'd set out to do some good in the world, there could be no doubt she had succeeded. But she couldn't help wondering exactly where that left her.

* * *

><p>The Baltan calendar revolved around its four seasons. According to tradition, dates used the ancient names for those seasons—the Old Baltan words, words from a time before the Great Divide when Tenra and Sryka had diverged. Trye, Bazjeran, Rekota, and Arcrose.<p>

Pidge had been born where the autumn began: Bazjeran 6. At least that was according to the orphanage, where the policy was to assume abandoned infants were newborns. It seemed like as good a date as any, and had never seemed like such a big deal. After all, he spent most of his time around Tenra, and Tenra viewed birthdays as relatively minor events. A small victory. Another year of life.

He was quiet at breakfast that day, contemplating. Wondering about the future. Such thoughts were a luxury he'd never really enjoyed before... on the streets he'd been lucky to think more than a few days ahead.

Maybe, under the circumstances, a birthday wasn't so minor. Maybe he should take some pride in the date after all. It still seemed a bit silly, though. It wasn't really getting a year older, it was just getting another day older, and wasn't that a little arbitrary? Why did these things even go by years rather than seasons or months or—

"Pidge, is something wrong?"

He jumped when Jyari spoke up, and stopped picking at his breakfast. "No, a little distracted is all. Sorry." She and Chip were both giving him odd looks now, and it wasn't really the sort of thing that was worth hiding. "Just thinking. It's my birthday."

"Oh!" She paled slightly. "Congratulations! I'm sorry, I never even thought to ask about that—I don't have a present or anything."

Shrug. "I'm really worried about it, can't you tell? Just a birthday. I don't know either of yours, so hell with it..." No, wait. That was not the socially correct response. And even if it wasn't a big deal, he was kind of curious now. "Uh, when _are_ yours?"

He caught a mental flicker of Chip clamping down hard on something, which struck him as odd; for him to pick up such sensations without effort, they had to be very strong indeed. Jyari's violet eyes fell on the other crossbreed for a moment as well, and then he snapped his head up and glared daggers at her across the table.

"...I apologize, Chip. Reflex."

"Yeah." His voice had taken on a familiar sullen note. "It's okay."

Pidge glanced between the two of them, suppressing a giggle. He liked Jyari, and he liked Chip, and it really shouldn't amuse him as much as it did when his brother caught the Tenra probing his thoughts. It was just something Tenra did, but it still annoyed Chip a great deal.

Maybe he should've gone ahead and laughed, he decided after a moment; the silence following the exchange was pretty awkward. "So uh, guys? Birthdays?"

"Right, yes. Arcrose 51, though as you say, it's not so important." Jyari shrugged. "Survival isn't an impressive achievement for me. Not like it is for you two. What about you, Chip?"

There was another sensation of... closing. Shutting down. Then Chip stood, scowling at both of them, and stalked out of the room without another word.

..._Okay then_. Pidge exchanged startled looks with Jyari, then stood as well. "I don't suppose you caught what that was about?"

"Not in the least. Other than that he didn't like the topic, but I imagine you don't need me to tell you that at this stage..."

"Yeah, I _did_ pick up on that much. I'll go check it out." He felt her concerned gaze on him long after he was around the corner and out of her sight. Pidge was concerned too; he really had no idea what had set his brother off like that, and while the other halfblood was still wild enough to make Pidge look calm and refined, he wasn't usually that... abrupt.

Chip was in their bedroom, his slim form silhouetted in front of the window. "Go away."

"Nope. Sorry." Pidge walked up next to him, bracing to dodge a punch, but apparently his presence wasn't quite that unwelcome. "I wasn't meaning to hit a sore spot. You want to tell me what I actually hit so I don't do it again?"

"No."

He probably ought to have expected that response. If their roles were reversed, he'd probably have given it. "Do it anyway."

Dark eyes flickered to him for a moment, then shifted away again. "Birthdays. I grew up in Meletra, remember? On the south side. Sryka territory. Sryka see birthdays as a day to honor and thank their parents." He stared out at the crowded streets, fists clenched. "You tell me what reason I would ever have for _that_."

_Aha_. The idea that Sryka would see things so differently hadn't even occurred to Pidge, and he mentally kicked himself for the oversight. Of _course_ he should've taken the possibility into account before he said something stupid... still, though. To the extent that Pidge had ever really thought about his parents, he had always been able to make himself feel some vague hints of gratitude.

He was alive, after all, and that was more than his lost race usually had.

"They did bring you into the world. That has to be worth something."

Snort. "Why? They didn't mean to. You know where halfbloods come from. We're not even pawns, we're inconvenient side effects." A faint pulse in their link; a cold flame kindled in Chip's eyes. "Some Tenra and Sryka ran into each other, and someone got raped, and then there was a subhuman byproduct and _nobody cared_. Somewhere out there I have a father who was fine with creating a doomed life just to feel powerful, and a mother who was fine with throwing that life at the nearest doorstep so she didn't have to deal with it. Am I really supposed to be thankful for that?"

"At least she didn't kill you," Pidge said softly. "You know that happens, people kill the newborns because they'll probably just die anyway. We were the lucky ones. We lived."

"Yeah. To do what?" He was warmed up now; the rage was practically pouring off his skin, seeming to carry Pidge's words away from him in a burning flow of fury. "Be miserable outcasts until we die? That's what you call lucky? Living off theft and scraps, just like animals. That's all there is to us!"

"No it's not!" Pidge was surprised to find himself raising his voice. But maybe his brother's anger was seeping into him, sparking his own temper. Maybe it was just the idea that Chip could still be clinging to such thoughts, lost in the shadowy pool of bitterness he kept hidden within himself. "We're more than that. We're more than what _they_ say we are."

"That's not very convincing from you. You called yourself Kavanyr, for god's sake!"

"I _did_. But now I call myself Pidge." His own voice had taken on a harsh note, a glinting razor's edge of determination. A single point of light struggling against the darkness. "Survivor! And I sure as hell wasn't bothering to survive because I cared what a bunch of _fullbloods_ thought." He spat the word _fullblood_ with as much contempt as the word _halfblood_ ever carried on Balto.

"Of course. I know. But a fullblood gave you that name..." Chip's fingers tightened on the windowsill. "You were just an abomination until she gave you a name, weren't you? Just like any other crossbreed. Proves my point. We're not worth anything without the pity of our betters."

Bristling under the relentless cynicism, Pidge barely managed to keep a grip on his temper. Kept it only because he could feel how much more there was to this discussion than anger and self-hatred. _No, syrankar. You're not that far gone_. "I'd be pretty upset with you if you actually believed that."

His brother gave him a sharp, dangerous look, a look that threatened to set their link ablaze. "Don't _you_ tell me what I believe!"

Pidge winced, his resolve shaken a bit by the genuine malice in that voice. He didn't want to do this—didn't want to have to fight for real, not with his brother, not with the one other member of his kind. But he forged on because it had to be said. Saving him was more important than making him happy. "I'm not. I don't know what you believe, but I know what you _don't_ believe. There's a reason you earned the name Chipral rather than just rolling over and dying!"

The words hit hard, as intended; he felt their impact so clearly through the link, loosening something that was hot and tight in his brother's chest. Something hateful. Something that should not have to exist. Chip's eyes narrowed, but their threat faded somewhat. "Spite."

"You know you can't lie to me, syrankar."

Now it was Chip who winced, and suddenly he turned away, walking over to his bed and sitting in what was more of a controlled collapse. He stared at the bed across from him for a few moments, running one hand aimlessly over the gray quilt on his own. "Yes. Syrankar," he repeated absently, almost gently, as though the word had calmed all his rage. "...But do you really believe that, Pidge? That there's something I was living for?"

"There must have been."

"You really _are_ naive." He kept his dark eyes fixed firmly on the other bed, even as his brother approached. "I wish I could tell you you're right, but if I was living for anything it was cowardice. It's so hard to give up life once you've started it... if I had to live in hell I may as well live in the hell I knew."

_Naive?_ He certainly wouldn't have used that word. But it rang truer than he would've liked, and he fought down his desire to take issue with it, focusing on the rest. Trying to imagine being in that place. A darkness where the only path ahead was more darkness, and the only way out was the most terrifying of all unknowns.

"...I understand."

"Now _you're_ lying."

Not entirely true. Intellectually, he could grasp what Chip was saying. In his mind it made so much logical sense. But no, he didn't _understand_, couldn't make himself feel the depths of that despair. Lonely as it had been to stalk the shadows, he'd loved it as well. Reveled in the chaos and freedom, and lived for the challenge, rather than just aimlessly existing for fear of the alternative.

"Yeah. I liked the streets," he admitted softly, sitting beside his brother on the bed. "I do think I see what you're saying. But I never went through that."

"Maybe she caught you before you reached that point. I wasn't always like this." Chip shook his head and gave a soft, bitter laugh. "I did things wrong, I guess. You had the stars, you had the wind, you didn't let yourself be tied down! I just had a dark little hole I crawled back into every night. Nothing new to see. No purpose. No future."

There was an odd sensation flooding through Pidge, one he'd felt a handful of times before, but never so strongly. His body wanted to move, because he had to do _something_ and words wouldn't be enough... he reached over and wrapped his arms around his brother, and felt better immediately. And it wasn't just his own side of the link that was comforted; the other crossbreed hesitated for only a moment before hugging him back. That was something new, because Chip did not tolerate being touched unless they were sparring.

Pidge did understand _that_. He'd been there.

Sooner or later you had to take that step, accept that touch. Trust that sometimes contact didn't have to mean hostility, that sometimes it could be warm and even pleasant. Maybe now... maybe he'd finally made his way past the final barrier, shattered the final wall.

_You were in a prison long before the bounty hunters caught you, weren't you?_

_Yeah, I guess I was._

_...Wait. Chip?_

_Pidge!_

They both jumped, pulled apart, ending up on opposite sides of the bed. "What just happened?" Chip yelped, eyes wide and bright with shock, mirroring the expression Pidge knew had to be written on his own face.

"I..." There was no sense denying what they both knew, was there? "I think I just heard you inside my brain. And going by your reaction I think you heard me, too."

"Yeah. I think so... but that isn't possible."

It wasn't possible, he was right. And yet, the way they'd been bound to begin with wasn't possible. The fact that they'd lived to reach this moment was so drastically against all odds that it may as well not be possible. It was all impossible, and here they were, so why shouldn't telepathy be possible too?

_Can you hear me? _The thought got no answer, though he could see a distant look in his brother's eyes and had a sneaking suspicion Chip was trying the same thing. He moved forward, tried again. _Chip? _Still nothing. Yet they coordinated wordlessly, both aware of what they were attempting now even if they couldn't actually hear their words in each others' minds. _Still can't hear me?_

It wasn't working. This should be simple. Logical. It had happened once, they ought to be able to make it happen again. But maybe... yes, they needed to replicate the circumstances. That realization seemed to have occurred to Chip as well, because he was suddenly looking very tentative as he moved around the bed.

"Pidge..."

"Yeah. I know."

They stared at each other, only inches apart, thoughts still completely hidden from each other. But there might be a way to change that, if only he took one more step... and he should find that terrifying. The fact that he _wasn't_ terrified was terrifying, to be perfectly honest, because if nothing else Pidge was used to knowing how his own mind worked.

Chip shouldn't like this any better than he did... but it was Chip who took the next step, pressing his hands down firmly on the smaller crossbreed's shoulders.

_How about now?_

_I hear you._

They stared at each other in wonder. For the first time they were experiencing telepathy as it was meant to be, a mutual sharing of thoughts rather than an invasion of privacy. It was incredible. It was transcendent. It was...

_Completely impractical._

_Yeah, I was thinking the same thing._

Both laughed, a little nervously, neither making the slightest move to break contact.

_Pidge, I... I didn't mean all of that, you know? I mean, there was a time that I meant it, but not anymore. Because you're right, there's more to us than that. It's just so hard to think that way when you're the only one of your kind... when you try to tell yourself you have hope, you're just waiting for something to change. But there's no hope and nothing ever changes. _

_I can see that. But you lived. That's what's important. No matter what your reasons were... you lived because it was better than the alternative. That's what hope is about, isn't it? Taking the better choice even when you can't see where it's going?_

_True enough. Is that how you've always looked at it?_

_Hardly, I came up with that just now. Never had much occasion to think about it before. I was busy mugging people, you know? Deep thoughts about hope and despair weren't high priorities._

_I'm glad. You're too.. innocent for that._

_Call me innocent again and I'll punch you. Also, I think we just found the practical application for this link. Neither of us could be this sappy out loud and you know it._

That was the last straw; Chip fell back on the bed, laughing. "Cannot argue with that at _all_. This is going to take some getting used to, syrankar."

"Yeah. Hell of a birthday present," Pidge agreed after a brief hesitation. Better to defuse this than leave it be. "That's what Tenra do, y'know? Birthdays aren't about the parents, they're just about you managing to make it another year. For us that's kind of a big deal, right? So look at it that way. It's better."

"Interesting concept. I _do_ like it better." Chip looked up at him with a grimace. "Not that it really matters... I don't even know when my birthday is."

Which made a lot of sense, now that he mentioned it. After all, even Pidge couldn't be certain of his own, he just had to trust the word of people who he really wouldn't have trusted on any other matters. But even an uncertain date was better than nothing.

There were so many things crossbreeds lacked. Names. Families. Birthdays. So they found their own, made it up as they went along. And sometimes it meant so much more that way.

"It's today."

Frown. "I doubt that."

Well of _course_ it probably wasn't. His brother was really too damned practical sometimes. "It's as good as any other day, isn't it?"

"...You know, you've got a point there." He grinned. Actually _grinned_. Pidge loved it when his brother smiled, because it seemed like he did it so rarely. But maybe it would come more easily now. "Yeah. Today's a good birthday."

"That's more like it."

They were quiet for awhile, a comfortable silence. Then Chip stood and stretched, wincing, wringing the tension from his body. "Pidge?"

"Yeah?"

"Does syrakel really think we're special?"

Syrakel. It took him a moment to catch up with that, though he knew the word. Just wasn't used to hearing it, and had to place it in some sort of context...

Sister.

Jyari.

That was a pretty big step, but they'd had quite a few of those just now. "She really does." It had taken him so long to accept that himself, but... "I think she has to, it's the only way she even makes the tiniest amount of sense."

"Yeah. True. But if she does, then I can't help thinking she's a lot more special than we are." Chip looked at the floor. "I think maybe the Sryka are onto something too, with birthdays. It's just not about your parents. It's about the people who help you, who care about you..." A frown of confusion settled in on his face. "We should do something for her."

_Huh. Not a bad idea. _"How about making dinner?"

"I was thinking of doing something _nice_, not poisoning her."

Pidge snorted derisively. Sure, neither of them had the slightest bit of experience with cooking. But he could assemble an internal combustion engine from scratch, surely a recipe would work on the same principles, wouldn't it? "Oh come on, let's do it. How hard can it be to read a cookbook?"

"Famous last words."

* * *

><p>Something had changed...<p>

Pidge and Chip were in the kitchen, and the way things were going Jyari was reasonably certain 'kitchen' would not be an appropriate name for the room soon. 'Disaster area' would be more descriptive. She wasn't quite sure what to make of the fact that they'd actually _locked her out_, but there was very little to be done for it.

No sense faulting them for the effort. She was fully prepared to order out once they admitted defeat.

Pessimistic? Quite. It wasn't that she lacked faith in their abilities. It was just that she could smell something burning, and was pretty sure she'd heard an actual explosion a few minutes ago. Which took its own brand of talent, really.

How hard could it be to read a cookbook?

It didn't matter. Things had changed, and that was all that mattered.

They'd been so tentative before, bound but still dancing carefully around each other. Now that hesitation was gone; the joy they spread was powerful and contagious. It shone so clearly without the need to read either of their minds, lightening this house that had once been a bastion of darkness.

Perhaps to her own surprise, Jyari realized she was content to watch... to guide them and bask in their warmth.

It was more than enough.


End file.
